Dad stepped closer, one hand on my shoulder. His eyes were blazing, his voice rough with restrained fury. "He touched you? He —" He cut himself off, jaw clenching hard. "He'll never come near you again. Not while I breathe."
He pulled me towards him and wrapped his arms around me. He stroked my hair gently while I pressed my face to his chest.
The sheer force of his protectiveness touched me so deeply in my heart, I'd never felt safer. My eyes burned, tears spilling over, not from the fear anymore, but from this swell of love — raw, overwhelming, fierce. For once, I didn't feel invisible. I felt held. Cherished. Safe.
"I'm okay," I whispered, though my voice cracked. "I promise, I'm okay."
"No," Mum said firmly, pulling me back towards her just enough to cup my face in her hands. "You don't have to be okay right now. Let us look after you."
Her hands were warm against my skin, steady, certain. This was the same woman who had barked at me to hurry up in the mornings, who lost her temper over the smallest things. Yet now she was nothing but soft edges, gathering me close as if she could absorb my pain into her own body and carry it for me.
Dad started to pace the room, fists clenching and unclenching, his usual calmness stripped away. I had rarely seen him rattled, but tonight the fury radiated off him. "If I see that boy —" he began, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't finish. He didn't need to. The weight of the unspoken words filled the air.
Teddy, still at my side, straightened a little taller. "I handled him tonight," he said, his voice steadier than I'd ever heard it. "But he won't stop. He thinks he can have whatever he wants. We'll need to watch for him."
His words chilled me, but there was comfort in knowing he had fought for me, stood up for me when I couldn't. I reached for his hand, squeezing it tight, a silent thank you that caught in my throat before I could say it aloud.
"I'll go to Freddie Cooper if I have to," Dad said abruptly, turning toward the door as if ready to march down the street that very moment.
"No," I said quickly, panicked at the thought of this escalating further. "Please, not tonight. I just… I just want to be home."
That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back to me, his expression softening, though his jaw was still tight with fury. "Alright," he said gruffly. "But this isn't the end of it, Emma. Not by a long shot."
I nodded, too tired to argue, too raw to explain the storm in my chest. All I wanted was the safety of their presence.
We stayed huddled in the front room, shadows creeping along the walls. Mum fetched a blanket and draped it over my shoulders, tucking it in as though I were a child again. Dad pulled his chair closer, leaning forward as if he could shield me with his very body. Teddy didn't leave my side.
The three of them hovered, watching me, anchoring me. And though I was overwhelmed, though part of me wanted to retreat into silence, the larger part swelled with a fierce gratitude. I was not alone. Not now. Not ever.
And then —
A sharp persistent knock rattled the front door.
We all froze.
Dad's head whipped toward the sound, his shoulders squaring, protective rage sparking anew. Teddy moved instinctively closer to me. Mum's arms tightened around me.
Another knock, louder this time.
The clock ticked in the heavy silence. It was late. Too late for visitors.
"Stay there," Dad said, his voice like steel as he strode toward the door.
The knock came again, sharp and unrelenting, rattling through the hallway. Every muscle in me tightened, my fingers curling harder into the blanket wrapped around me.
Dad moved fast. He always did when the house was unsettled, though rarely with this kind of urgency. His shoulders squared as he strode to the door, the lines around his mouth set hard, as though etched in stone. Mum tightened her arm around me as though to anchor me in place, her warmth seeping through my shivering body. Teddy hovered just behind Dad, fists clenched and jaw tight, his stance practically daring whoever it was to show themselves.
When Dad wrenched the door open, the hinges groaned.
Freddie Cooper, Harry's dad, stood there in the porch light. He wasn't exactly friends with Dad, they didn't even work for the same company. But we knew who he was. Everyone in town knew who he was. He loomed broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, every inch of him radiating danger. His jaw was locked, eyes flickering with a restless, simmering fury, daring anyone to cross him.
"Freddie," Dad said, his voice low and edged with steel. "What do you want at this hour?"
Freddie cleared his throat, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. "Ben, It's Harry," he said finally, his tone taut with something I couldn't quite name. "His nose is broken. He came home bloody, half out of his head, ranting about Teddy jumping him."
Teddy took a step forward, but Dad shot him a look sharp enough to slice the air. Teddy stilled, seething but silent.
Dad's voice hardened. "And do you know why?" He shifted so Freddie could see me from the door, gesturing toward me where I sat curled on the sofa. "This is why Teddy broke his nose. Look at her, Freddie. My little girl. Harry attacked her. That's why."
The words dropped like stones in the silence.
Freddie's eyes followed, landing on me. For a heartbeat his expression was unreadable. Then colour crept up his neck and into his cheeks. His ears reddened. And something in his posture — once rigid, always proud — buckled. He exhaled heavily, stepped inside, and crouched down until his broad frame was level with mine.
"Emma," he said. His voice was rough, unsteady in a way I had never heard. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry for Harry laying a hand on you. Did... did he...?"
He looked down and cursed under his breath.
"I got there before he could," Teddy said proudly.
Freddie looked at him and nodded. He looked defeated.
I blinked at him, frozen, because I had braced myself for denial, for anger, for some bitter defense of his son. But not this. Not the regret etched deep into his eyes.
"He — he had no right," Freddie continued, his words catching. "To grab you, to frighten you, to hurt you… it's shameful. He'll answer for it. A broken nose is the least of his worries right now." He swallowed hard. "I'll deal with him. You have my word."
Mum gasped softly, her grip on me tightening. Dad's expression flickered — surprise, suspicion, but also a trace of grim respect.
I just nodded. My throat felt raw and tight, I couldn't say anything.
Freddie hesitated, then added, "My boy's been arrogant for too long. His whole life, I've spoilt him. I felt bad for him because his mum walked out on us. But I never thought… never thought he'd cross this line. This is not just mischief, not just him being young and stupid. It's unforgivable. And I won't stand for it — not even from him."
I still couldn't speak. I felt a rush of relief and disbelief, a strange mixture that made my chest ache.
Dad stood straighter, folding his arms across his chest. "We're still reporting this to the police." His tone was final.
To my shock, Freddie nodded without hesitation. "You should. If it were my daughter, I'd do the same. Harry needs to face the consequences. Protecting him now would only make him worse."
The room fell silent again, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears. Then Freddie stood, brushing his palms down the front of his tailored trousers, the fabric sharp and spotless despite the late hour. His eyes lingering on me once more. "I'll check in soon, Emma, if that's alright. Just to see how you're doing."
Dad gave a curt nod, though his shoulders remained rigid. "We'll see."
Freddie didn't argue. He turned, stepped out into the cool night, and walked down the path.
We sat quietly listening to the sharp strike of his shoes against the pavement, each step confident and deliberate, until the sound finally faded into the distance.
When Dad closed the door with a soft click, the entire house seemed to exhale.
Mum was the first to break the silence. She shook her head, eyes wide. "Well," she said softly, "that wasn't what I expected."